


Under His Skin

by theskyeskye



Series: DA KINK MEME FILLS [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asphyxiation, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hate Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Spoilers for Blackwall's personal quest, Sexual Violence, Verbal Humiliation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2908418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyeskye/pseuds/theskyeskye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Blackwall are at one another's throats, fingers itching to do damage, words flying like arrows to wound each other. They try for one thing that might resolve the tension, but it might also make it worse than ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under His Skin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill that I did over at the DA Kink Meme for the following prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> Blackwall/Dorian hate-sex doesn't solve a thing
> 
> Their bickering gets worse and worse, and finally, they get it out of the system through the medium of fucking. Instead of awesome earth shattering hate-sex tho, it's bad for both of them: Blackwall is careless, nasty and physically hurts Dorian, Dorian is spitting venom and continuously hits below the belt, erm, figuratively speaking. To say that they don't respect each other in the morning it's an understatement, they are both angry and ashamed and use what has happened between them to hurt one another.
> 
> I'm not objecting to an eventual happy ending/resolution/them getting together but I want a fic showing the downside of attempting to solve a personality clash with sex.
> 
>  
> 
> ++++++ Blackwall calling Dorian "whore"/"bitch", questioning his masculinity and shaming him for being a bottom
> 
> [side note, i did not follow this prompt to the letter, i sort of took inspiration from it but didn't get as involved in the sexual humiliation for bottoming]

This had gone on too long. This had gone too far. Dorian’s lip was bruised, he could taste blood in his mouth, and as he looked up with viper’s eyes, narrowed, glaring, hair falling out of place into the line of his gaze, he wiped that blood away on the back of his hand.

“Is that all? My mother has slapped me harder than that,” he spat blood in Blackwall’s face, tasting the split in his lip while anger boiled in the pit of his stomach.

“Is that so? Likely because she had to watch in heartbreak while you turned into a disappointment and a whore,” empty words, they meant nothing, but they were said with such vehemence that Blackwall sounded like he believed them. Maybe he did, deep down somewhere, he thought Dorian was loose, used, and useless.

“A whore? Ha. No, even I have standards. A whore might _fuck you_ , but _ **I** _ certainly wouldn’t,” Dorian’s body was crowded suddenly, Blackwall’s broad form pinning him in a corner. Dorian was taller, yes, but there was nowhere for him to go, Blackwall was sturdy as an ox in his path, and twice as dangerous.

“You wouldn’t? I hardly think you’d know what to do with yourself if I got between your legs,” Blackwall bared his teeth, pressing his nose up against Dorian’s cheekbone as he spoke through a tightly clenched jaw. Dorian pulled his head away in disgust, huffing a breath through his nose. Blackwall’s forearm shot out, his hand planting against the stone to block Dorian in more.

“I’m sure I’d be beside myself with disappointment,” Dorian shuddered slightly as he felt Blackwall’s lips, his beard, brushing against his face when he spoke.

“I’ve made whores that were better than you squeal like the filthy creatures they were with less than a touch, you think you’re so much better? So above us all? You know the answers to all the worlds problems, you and your homeland are going to fix the aches and pains you all caused? You’re nothing, and your people are nothing. Nothing but trouble. Don’t sit atop your throne so smugly, remember it’s made of the corpses of my countrymen too,” that’s what this was really about. That was what this came down to, and Dorian couldn’t quite find his tongue when suddenly, there was a foreign one pressing past his lips and into his mouth. Blackwall was kissing him, or was this even a kiss? He growled into Blackwall’s mouth and bit him; that tongue retreated with a low grunt of frustration.

“You forget yourself, Blackwall. Or shall I call you by your true name?” Dorian hissed, gasping as Blackwall thrust a knee between his thighs and pressed him bodily into the rough stone.

“You know nothing about me,” Blackwall rubbed against him, their hips creating heat and friction, angry, burning, blood scorching friction.

“I know that you’re more deserving of the title hissrad than the Iron Bull ever was… And he’s paid to lie. They stopped paying you a long time ago, Warden Commander,” Dorian wasn’t surprised by the grip around his throat. It squeezed, just enough to cut off the flow of air. He gasped against it and clawed at Blackwall’s shoulders through his plainclothes.

“What good are the words of a traitorous brat who turned his back on his own family for the sake of fucking the kind of tail he liked best? You sold yourself for the right price, put your needs before those of others, just as I did,” Blackwall hissed. Dorian’s face was red, lack of air making him dizzy, his nails bit blunt circles into the skin beneath them and Blackwall loosened his grip, just so he wasn’t made a murderer a hundred and one times over.

“Then we’re both whores, aren’t we?” Dorian croaked. Their eyes met and Dorian’s blood was staining Blackwall’s lips.

“I suppose we are,” he ground the words out, while he let go of Dorian’s throat in favor of pulling ties open and tearing through fabric to get to skin. Dorian’s hands slid from his shoulders to pull at buttons and grab for his belt. There was silent, unpleasant rage building up beneath them, like hellfire, it was going to swallow them whole.

Blackwall’s fingers pried Dorian open and his spoke low and husky against his ear while he worked his way inside him, one at a time.

“I’ll make you scream my name until the walls shake and all of Skyhold knows, you’re a whore, and I made you mine,” Blackwall’s possession of Dorian wasn’t that of a lover, but of a jailer. He was taking Dorian captive and clipping his wings while he slid fingers deep inside him, aided by the barest amount of oil he could possibly risk.

“Tell me it was worth it, that this was worth what you gave up, to have my hands between your legs,” Blackwall’s words had Dorian stunned into a temporary silence. He could scarcely breathe, his hips jerking as he spread his legs wider for Blackwall’s hand as it dipped down between them, under his body, holding him up. When he thrust his fingers, Dorian’s back arched, heels lifting as he cried out.

“Is this how you distract yourself from your precious guilt? They all see you as a gentle, apologetic man, but I know the truth, I know what you really are,” Dorian caught Blackwall’s lips as they came together in some twisted form of a kiss; it was all blood slick tongue and gnashing teeth. Dorian couldn’t bear to hold in a moan as Blackwall’s callous fingers took hold of his cock, gripping him on the edge of too tight, tugging and stroking his swollen flesh while his fingers hooked around, pressing for a spot that had his length leaking and his head swimming in starlight.

It felt good but it didn’t satisfy. Wherever Blackwall kiss him he had bruises, and he’d have to look at them for days to come. Wherever he touched Blackwall, his nails cut rivers in his skin, leaving him stinging and painted in red. This wasn’t sex, this was a fight.

Blackwall pulled away, long enough to spin Dorian around and throw him back into the corner, pressing his face to the wall with one large hand pressed to the back of his head. Dorian looked back, a growl, almost feral, on his lips as he watched Blackwall pour oil over himself and stroke the thickness between his legs. It wasn’t enough, this wouldn’t mend anything, but Dorian thrust back just as hard as Blackwall thrust forward. The tension reached a tipping point and they didn’t even know who they were anymore, what they were doing.

Every movement was instinct, it was base, it was carnal, Blackwall’s forehead pressed into the crook of Dorian’s neck and he whispered filthy accusations in his ear while his hands yanked Dorian’s slim hips backward into every bruising thrust. Sweat gathered, breath mingled, but this wasn’t a shared moment, it was a grab for sanity, some common ground, something to make sense of this hatred.

Did they truly hate each other? Or had they simply let insults get the better of them. Dorian cried out, Blackwall’s hand sliding around him again and giving him a good few strokes bringing his voice out again. Blackwall’s lips were at his ear and his commanded it. He commanded Dorian say it.

“Scream my name, do it, tell them all just what you are,” he bit, none too gently at the shell of Dorian’s ear and Dorian fought to catch his breath, caught between the rigid stone and Blackwall’s wrath.

“Which one?” Dorian spat back when he found breath enough to speak.

Blackwall’s roar of frustration devolved into a wail of despair and his hips stilled. He leaned against Dorian’s back, head ducked low, forehead pressed between his shoulder blades, as he just breathed, hard and heavy through his nose.

All at once he pulled away, taking the feeble sound Dorian made at the loss of Blackwall inside him as a small victory and glancing backward to watch his trembling legs give way. Dorian’s knees hit the floor.

“You’re not worth the finish,” Blackwall grabbed his clothes and walked, paying no mind to the stares as he left Dorian’s quarters naked and made his way to the barn.


End file.
